


It's a Long Road to Hell Without No Soul

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Escape, F/M, Gen, Lazarus Pit, League of Assassins - Freeform, Tommy Merlyn is Alive, brief threats of sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Merlyn is the last person Felicity expects to help her escape abduction from the League of Assassins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted/first sentence provided by macyaudenstarr.

"You're supposed to be dead right now, you do know this, right?"

Tommy’s grip on Felicity’s arm tightened and he dragged her closer in to his body, ducking his head quickly around the doorframe to make sure the guard, footsteps echoing ahead of him to warn them, hadn’t turned the nearby corner into their hallway just yet. “Yeah, I kind of remember that. Do you think the question-and-answer portion of the evening could wait until we get the hell out of here?”

Felicity stared up at him, bare inches between their fronts, her eyes wandering incredulously over his face, healthy and full of life and looking _exactly_ like the last time she’d seen him, a year and a half ago. “ _No_ , I really don’t think it can!”

Tommy hissed a “ _shhh!_ " at her out of the corner of his mouth and went even more still and tense, listening to the footsteps grow closer.

Felicity, single-minded, dropped her gaze suddenly to his chest, and immediately lifted her hands, her fingers making quick, sharp work of the buttons on the dark-blue dress shirt he wore.

Tommy’s head whipped around, his eyebrows shooting straight up before crashing down in confusion and mild affront as she opened his shirt to just above his stomach, pushing it wider on the left side.

"Felicity, not that I’m not flattered, but _now is not the time_ ,” Tommy hissed between gritted teeth; he could tell by the echo that the guard had turned the corner and was in their hallway.

She ignored him, fingertips feathering just barely over his chest. Barely breathing the words, she said, in shock and confusion, “There’s not even a scar.” She finally lifted her gaze from his chest, locking onto his clear, blue eyes, hers clouded with confusion, trepidation—hope. “Tommy, I _listened to you die_ , how—”

Shutting his eyes and exhaling sharply through his nose, Tommy compressed his lips and clapped his free hand over Felicity’s mouth, using the one wrapped around her arm to drag her up against him as he turned them into the wall, keeping her hidden with his body, just in case, as the guard approached.

Felicity stayed stock still against him, her fingers curled into tights fists against his chest, and Tommy breathed, measured and even, listening as the guard’s footsteps moved past their room, to the end of the hall, stopped, turned, past their room again, and finally, faded out of hearing.

Tommy exhaled, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath, and Felicity gently but firmly pushed at him. He stepped back, pulling his hand from her face and releasing her arm, lifting his fingers to efficiently re-button his shirt.

Felicity licked her lips, scowling, and glared at him. “You’re incredibly lucky I got abducted before putting on my lipstick, Merlyn.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him and shook his head; it had been a while since the last time he’d just _laughed_ in easy amusement. “And I _am_ grateful.” His smile faded as she continued to stare at him, stubborn and intractable. He sighed. “Look, can we please just make it _out_ of the creepy assassin compound before I have to explain everything? I’d really prefer we get out _before_ Oliver figures out where you were taken and storms the place, maybe avoid that whole mess. Besides, it’ll be a lot easier to just tell this story once.”

He sighed again, hands shifting into his pockets, mouth a grim line. “I know better than to ask you to pretend you didn’t see me here once we get you out.”

She took an aggressive step into his space, and he held her gaze as she closed in, quietly amused by and admiring her fire; he could see why Oliver needed her. “You’re _damn right_ you know better. Tommy, the _whole world_ fell apart when you died. And I am not just talking about half the Glades coming down.”

Tommy swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to the floor. He sucked in a breath, hesitated; switched tacks. “You really listened to me die? How?”

She was quiet a moment, still staring him full in the face, and he knew she was deciding whether or not to answer, whether or not to let him off with the subject change. Finally, she said, “I was on comms, still. On mute. I stayed in case Oliver needed—needed warning, or emergency services, or… and then I couldn’t—I couldn’t just check out, while you were—”

She turned sharply away, hands coming up to rest on her hips, shoulders squaring as she breathed deeply. “I kept the last text conversation we had, you know. For… _months_. But I lost it, when my phone broke. There was—the Count, he—”

"I know," Tommy said gently, tentatively setting a hand on her shoulder, "about the Count." She turned her head to look at him quizzically again, and he sidestepped, again. "What even was our last text conversation?"

Her expression thawed slightly, the line of her shoulder easing minutely. “You asked me to go into Verdant’s ordering system and make sure the wine shipment had been rescheduled, because you didn’t trust Oliver not to have forgotten.”

Tommy chuckled and ran a hand over his face. “I had a hard time letting go of that place.”

One side of her mouth quirked up, briefly, not really a smile. “We all had a hard time. Letting go.”

Tommy just held her gaze, then shook himself. “We need to leave. They’re going to notice that you’re not in your room soon. And when they realize I’m not where _I’m_ supposed to be, it won’t take them long to figure out what happened. We need to be gone by then.”

Felicity nodded. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is falling in line with a wishful-thinking headcanon of mine, in which the League of Assassins acquired Tommy's body shortly after his death. His funeral was closed casket so no one knows they buried an unknown homeless man in Tommy Merlyn's grave, because once Ra's al Ghul learned what Malcolm had done, the deal they had made about Malcolm's son was null. And so R'as "acquired" Tommy, and put him in the Lazarus Pit, and kept him, partly to keep Malcolm--who he suspected wasn't dead--in line if need be, and partly because the League always claims their own. And so Tommy's been living under the thumb of R'as al Ghul, slowly shaking off the effects of the Lazarus Pit, attempting to avoid indoctrination/brainwashing, even as he pretended to fall in line, and took up training with the League.
> 
> And I have to admit, there is the vague possibility I will revisit this verse.


	2. Run As Fast As You Think You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Felicity get the hell out of Dodge, but run into a little trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is multichapter now.
> 
> I don't know how many. I'm gonna hedge on a few. *mumble* Also possibly the first fic in a series. *mumble* I promise NOTHING.

It really just figured that they made it all the way out of the borrowed complex full of assassins and their flunkies, only to be caught by the perimeter guard a block out from the facility.

Tommy was quick to pull Felicity behind him and back her into the alley wall, shielding her with his body as he held his hands, palms up and open, out to each side at about chest height.  He kept sharp eyes on the two men, recognizing from the way they moved as they closed in on them that they weren’t League, but a couple of the local mercenaries hired to maintain basic security on the temporary compound.

"Look, fellas," Tommy started, licking his lips, scrambling to come up with some way to talk their way out of this in one piece—maybe even free.

"Nuh-uh," the taller man cut him off with a casual waggle of his gun, head shaking and smile cool. "Save it. You, we know you’re not allowed out of the building unescorted. And she just came in this morning. Pretty sure you didn’t get sent to take the bitch for walkies."

Tommy’s lips twitched, a stifled frown, and Felicity’s hand, light on the small of his back, curled into a tight fist against the material of his shirt. Switching tacks quickly, Tommy sighed. “Alright, look. You’ve got us, fine. We didn’t get very far. This doesn’t have to be a dust-up, nobody needs to get hurt. We’ll go quietly.”

The shorter man, dark-complected, maybe Indian, smirked. “That doesn’t sound like much fun, does it, Randy?”

The taller man—white, shaved head, brown-eyed—Randy snickered, raising his gun to sight down his arm. “Not really, Sendhil. Think maybe they should’ve paid a little better if they didn’t want us to get _bored_.” Randy craned his head, seeking a glimpse of Felicity around Tommy’s shoulder. “But Barbie here looks like a pretty good time. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

Tommy’s lips compressed, eyes darting between Sendhil and Randy as they inched closer. Behind him Felicity shot back in a heated, shaky voice, “Best time you’re never gonna have, buddy.”

Tommy licked his lips, swallowing a surprised bark of laughter. He’d forgotten what a sharp tongue she kept in that mouth.

Randy smiled, sour and cold. “We’ll see about that, sweetcheeks. Contracts like these, they don’t give you a lot of free time to go out and _enjoy_ a fresh young thing like you. Makes a guy a little _crazy_.”

Tommy grinned—a baring of teeth. “Whoa, hey now. You seem like a smart guy; do you _really_ want to explain to those guys back there that you brought their pet trainee and current leverage back as damaged goods?”

Sendhil snorted, eyes running dismissively over Tommy. “Pretty sure they won’t mind _you_ a little roughed up. Sometimes you gotta beat a dog a little to bring it to heel. And the girl, well… if we have you watch, maybe they’ll consider it us doing them a favor, a little newspaper to the nose. When you take toys without permission, they get broken.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked, a rush of boiling heat rising in his chest—viciously, he tamped it down. Randy was moving in close, now, Sendhil standing back a few feet, keeping his weapon sighted on Tommy and Felicity.

Tommy stood still with Felicity between his back and the alley wall, hands up and loose, shoulders deliberately slumped—every muscle slowly tensing as he watched Randy step closer, gun lowering slightly as he took his bracing hand from it to reach around Tommy’s shoulder, fingers intent on Felicity’s bare upper arm.

Randy close now in his space, Tommy struck, hands flashing out to close, one around the gun barrel, one around Randy’s wrist, wresting the weapon away, barrel down—with the sharp pop of breaking bone as the other man’s trigger finger twisted inside the guard before slipping free.

Randy cried out sharply, voice cut off as Tommy let the gun drop from his fingers to leverage Randy’s arm into slamming him headfirst into the brick wall at their backs.

He whirled as Randy crumpled, eyes finding Sendhil just as he took a warning shot off into the cracked concrete ground, the boom near-deafening as it echoed up the close brick walls. Muffled in the crash of noise, Tommy heard Felicity shriek, a quick glance back showing her dropping to her knees on the gritty ground, hands covering her head but apparently unhurt.

Tommy shifted to stand a little more in front of her again, focusing his attention back on Sendhil, who shouted, “Get down! Get _down on the ground_!”

Tommy clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, but canted his head to one side as if assenting, slowly bending his knees and lifting his hands.

Sendhil bared his teeth, glaring hot at Tommy. “You’re gonna really regret that; you could’ve walked away _without_ a bullet hole, before.”

Tommy flashed a sudden grin. “I’m still gonna.”

Sendhil only had time to furrow his brows and purse his lips before Tommy launched hard at him, catching him in the gut with his shoulder and bearing him down to the ground.

The gun fired, high and over his head, as they crashed down, and Tommy wrenched it away from Sendhil, winded underneath him, and tossed it far to the side, pulling his arm back in the same motion and closing his fist to bring it slamming across the shorter man’s jaw, and again, and again, until his eyes rolled back and he went limp.

Tommy eased back, watching his face for a sudden return to consciousness, fist poised—and behind him, Felicity screamed again, there were the quick sounds of scuffing motion, and Randy’s voice gurgling obscenities through a broken nose. Tommy began to turn—

—and the gun went off _._

“ _Felicity_!”

He whirled and scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as his eyes made sense of the tangle of limbs on the ground—Felicity scrabbling out from under the weight of Randy. The gun was in her hand.

Tommy covered the short distance between them in quick strides, dropping to his knees beside her as she put a foot on Randy’s shoulder and pulled her left leg free, breathing fast and panicked, body trembling all over. She set the gun down with almost unthinking care, the slight rattling of the metal against the concrete betraying her shaking until she jerked her fingers away.

"Felicity—are you hurt? Are you— _shit_ ,” Tommy breathed, eyes rounding at the sight of the blood plastering her violet dress against her stomach, smears of it down her legs. Tommy’s hands hovered, searching for where the blood stemmed. “Where are you hit? Felicity, _where are you hit_?”

Felicity looked up at him like she only just noticed him, weight resting on her palms and rear, knees pulling up. Tears spotted her glasses and dampened her cheeks, but she shook her head. “Not—not my blood, _his_. I grabbed—got his gun when the other guy shot the first time, when I went down, and Randy got up when you tackled the other one, I didn’t _see_ , he grabbed my hair and he was—he was—I shot him.”

Her face crumpled and she moaned a little. “Oh, god, Tommy, _I killed him_.”

She suddenly whirled around, getting her shaky legs under her and stumbling some few steps away, palms slamming against the gritty bricks as she bent and lost the contents of her stomach. Tommy exhaled, long and shaky, and glanced at Randy, face down a foot away, blood sluggishly pooling under him and spreading across the back of his jacket.

Lip curling, Tommy tore his eyes away and pushed to his feet, moving carefully behind Felicity and setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey.” He gingerly gathered her loose hair at the nape of her neck as she heaved, holding it out of the way. “Felicity, you didn’t kill him. He’s just unconscious. He’ll make it. For a little while.”

Slowly, Felicity’s retching stopped, and she wiped the back of a hand over her mouth and straightened, turning her head to look at him, face red and a mess of tears and smeared makeup. “He’s… not dead? I didn’t kill him?” She turned a little towards him, one hand still bracing against the wall as she looked at him searchingly. Then, her brow furrowed, the corners of her lips—unusually pale—pulling down. “Wait, what do you mean ‘for a little while?’”

Tommy released his grip on her hair, but smoothed away some strands that had stuck to her damp cheek as he sighed. “You got him clean through the shoulder, not close enough to his heart to kill him right away. Provided you didn’t nick any arteries—and judging by how slow the blood is pooling under him, you didn’t—he ought to make it til the ambulances get here. Which,” he glanced away from her, gaze darting down the alley towards the open street they had been making for before Sendhil and Randy caught up to them, “probably won’t be long. That was three gunshots and plenty of noise; this area’s not residential but we’re close enough to people that someone’s bound to have called it in.”

Felicity stared at him, gaze sharper and examining him closely, and Tommy shifted uncomfortably, suddenly awkwardly aware that his palm still cupped her cheek and ear. “You have _clearly_ picked up a few things in the last eighteen months.”

He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Her frown tucked in on one side, head tilting slightly in that same direction—coincidentally, into his hand. It was a gesture of scrutiny, not of seeking comfort. “No, I imagine I don’t. You still didn’t say why that creep’ll live ‘for a little while.’ If he’s gonna make it til the ambulances get here…”

Tommy’s mouth flattened into a line, fingers tightening in Felicity’s hair as he braced himself for a fight. “The League doesn’t leave messes like this behind. These assholes were sloppy and stupid; they’ll never live long enough to open their mouths in an interrogation room.” Felicity’s brows pulled together and her frown deepened, and Tommy sighed impatiently through his nose. “Please tell me you’re not gonna ask me to take them with us or something to avoid their deaths.”

Felicity, who had turned her head to look at Randy, Tommy’s hand falling to her shoulder, looked back to him sharply, her expression edging into incredulity. “What? _No_. God, no. I didn’t want to be the one who killed him, Tommy, but I’m not gonna be broken up if the shitheads who wanted to rape me and make you watch die. _Ugh_.”

She shuddered dramatically, but the thick swallow that accompanied the motion said she wasn’t feeling as blase about it as she projected. Tommy suspected that was rather more about the attempted rape than the possible homicides of their assailants.

Exhaling his relief, Tommy took hold of her shoulders and turned her fully towards him. “Good, because I’m really not too busted up about it, either. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah? Before the cops show up.”

Her head dropped forward and she pulled in a couple of deep, even breaths, and nodded. Tommy smiled—and then froze at the sharp prick of cold, pointy metal at the back of his neck.

A dark, gravelly voice—mechanically altered—growled behind him. “Let. Her. Go.”

A shot of ice-cold fear shot down Tommy’s spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the arrowhead digging into his vertebrae. Felicity was looking at him with wide eyes, and then seemed to shake herself, roughly shoving away from Tommy’s grip on her shoulders—and darting around him to plaster herself up against his back, standing between the Arrow and Tommy Merlyn.

"Oliver, stop!"

"Felicity, get out of the way!" Oliver’s voice, under the modulation, was coldly furious, belligerent; Tommy imagined he’d been losing his mind for the past 24 hours, desperately hunting his assistant, stolen from her apartment shortly before she was to be picked up for work.

"Oliver, damn it, _stop_! It’s not—he’s not—”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped as he felt the arrow leave the back of his neck, accompanied by the sound of Felicity’s hand forcibly smacking it away, and Oliver’s frustrated growl. Tommy turned slowly, hands raising again for what felt like the umpteenth time that night.

"I swear I didn’t hurt her, Oliver." Tommy’s eyes found Oliver’s thunderous face—partly concealed by a mask, huh, that was new; it beat the shitty greasepaint. "And really, what the hell were you gonna do, shoot me? From that close? The bow is a _ranged_ weapon. You’re still a drama Queen, I see.”

Tommy watched his best friend’s face pale and go slack in shock, mouth hanging open and eyes rounding with horror as he lowered his bow like his hands had gone nerveless. “Tommy?”

Tommy smirked, small and bitter, his hands lowering. “In the flesh.”

In an instant, Oliver’s face was full of cold rage again and he harshly shouldered Felicity to one side and behind him, the bow back up, arrowpoint trained on Tommy’s throat. “This is some _sick_ trick. Whoever the fuck you are, _you will regret this_.”

“ _Oliver_!!” Felicity barked his name in a voice so loud and sharp it felt like a slap across the face, and both men flinched. Looking profoundly irritated, Felicity shoved her way back between them, both hands on Oliver’s wrist to push his bow aside. “ _Listen to me_ , you idiot! It’s _Tommy_! It’s Tommy.”

Oliver’s eyes didn’t leave Tommy’s, but his face tilted towards Felicity, his brows quirking up in a way that Tommy recognized as impending panic, and desperate hope.

Felicity reached up one hand and hesitantly laid it against the side of Oliver’s neck, her fingers briefly landing on the voice modulator attached to the edge of his hood to flick it off. “I don’t know how, Oliver, we haven’t really had time to talk about it with the whole springing me from the League of Assassins, but it’s _Tommy_ , it really is.”

Oliver was breathing harsh and fast through his nose, but his eyes showed reluctant, tentative acceptance, and the bow dipped. “Tommy. _How_? I was—I was there and you died, I watched you _die_.”

Tommy grimaced. “Buddy, I would love to tell you the whole bathshit insane story, but—” ever timely, sirens wailed in the distance; not distant enough. “Can we get out of here, first? The last thing we need is Oliver Queen’s EA, the Arrow, and zombie Tommy Merlyn in an alley with two unconscious hired guns.”

Felicity took her hands off of Oliver and turned again to Tommy, her brow quirking in question. “Wait, you’re not really a zombie, are you?”

Tommy laughed softly, his hands falling finally to his sides. “ _No_ , Felicity, I am not a zombie. But I’ll let you know if I develop a sudden craving for your brains.”

Felicity’s eyebrows climbed and she did an odd little shrug with her mouth. “Hey, we’ve seen some weird shit in the last year, I would almost believe it.” She sniffed a little haughtily, her humor trying to cover the way she still shook all over like a leaf in a stiff breeze. “And I’ll have you know I have _very_ sexy brains; gotta watch out for my number one asset.”

Tommy felt like he’d laughed more since sneaking Felicity Smoak out of a locked room than he had in the entire year prior to it; it was probably true. “I will keep that in mind.”

Oliver shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he returned his arrow to the quiver, his expression a curious mix of shock, desperation, relief, and annoyance. “Can you two do this later? Diggle and Roy are in a car a street over, they’re gonna meet us halfway.”

Felicity turned back to him, frowning. “God, it’s weird not being in on the comm talk.”

Just then, Oliver belatedly ran his eyes over her, and Tommy winced when Oliver realized how much of the blonde was covered in blood. “ _Felicity_. Fuck, are you okay? Where are you hurt? Why didn’t you fucking _say_ anything?”

He reached out to take hold of her, no doubt to frisk her for injuries, but she danced backward away from his grasp, hands up haltingly. “I’m _fine_. Or close enough, it’s not my blood, okay?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the still-prone Randy. “It’s his. I shot him. He isn’t dead. Yet. I will tell you all about it, _in the car_.”

And just like that she turned on her heel and started scurrying towards the mouth of the alley, muttering under her breath about men and overprotective urges.

Tommy just snorted and shook his head, looking to Oliver and jerking his head in Felicity’s direction. “We should probably not let her get too far ahead. She’s kind of a trouble magnet, god only knows what will happen if she actually leaves our sight.”

Oliver stared at him, nodded sharply, then sort of dazedly shook his head as he turned to stride off after Felicity, Tommy following with his hands, bloodied knuckles and all, stuffed in his pockets.

Oliver kept shaking his head as they hurried to catch up to Felicity, now peeking out of the alley and peering both ways down the street. “Every time I think life can’t get any fucking weirder…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be adding characters as they appear and relationships as they develop.


	3. Back From Wherever You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy, Felicity, and Oliver meet up with Roy and Diggle.

Felicity didn’t get far out of the alley, a handful of steps at most, before Oliver and Tommy caught up with her.

They fell into step to either side of her, an arrangement, it did not escape her notice, that put her as a physical buffer between them. She grimaced, hoping this wasn’t the start of a shitty habit.

The grimace deepened as Oliver directed them to turn right down the street, promising that Diggle should be pulling up a car at the next turn. The motion of walking down the street pulled the slick, cooling material of her blood-dampened dress against the skin of her stomach, and it was all Felicity could do not to crawl out of her skin. “Ugh.”

Tommy glanced over at her, an eyebrow raised, and saw her shaking fingers tug the front of her dress slightly away from her body. She met his eyes and the eyebrow climbed higher. Her nose wrinkled. “This is really unpleasant, okay? Like… really, really unpleasant.”

Oliver, on her other side, made some small noise, and she turned her head to look at him. He was staring at the blood on her dress, jaw squared and ticking. “You promise you’re not hurt?”

"I’m about five seconds from stripping down to my underwear in the middle of the street, but other than being kind of rattled and really grossed out, yeah, no, I’m peachy keen."

Oliver’s eyes raised to hers, and it was his turn for the expressive eyebrow raise. “Peachy keen, huh? So you shot that guy? And just putting my vote in, could you maybe avoid being in your underwear in the middle of the street? For me.”

"No," Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes drolly at his surprised blink. "But I _can_ avoid being in my underwear in the middle of the street for _me_. Once we get into the car I make _absolutely zero_ promises.”

"That won’t be awkward at all," Tommy murmured.

Felicity swung a glare on him. “ _You_ don’t have to face the option of a long car ride covered in the blood of a guy who—”

Oliver interrupted, somewhat impatiently. “That really won’t be necessary. Your go bag’s in the trunk.”

Felicity stopped walking and stared at him for a second. Both men stopped a step later, as soon as she dropped out of sync with them. They turned to look at her, and Felicity almost smiled. “Really?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. Felicity, you’ve been gone for almost two days. We… we didn’t know how we’d find you.” He looked away, glaring a psychic hole into the sidewalk. “It seemed like a good idea to have some toiletries and a change of clothes, for when we found you.”

 _When._ Not if. Felicity fully believed he hadn’t even allowed himself _if_.

Smiling, she stepped up and reached out to squeeze his gloved hand, drawing his eyes back to hers. “Thank you. For the bag, and for coming to get me.”

Oliver squeezed back, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth not quite an answering smile. “Always, Felicity. Every time.”

Tommy, shifting his weight from foot to foot, broke in, “Not that this isn’t a really cute moment, but can we get going? The sirens are getting closer.”

"Right," Felicity blinked, pulling her hand with one last squeeze from Oliver’s, who had gone strangely stiff at Tommy’s words. "And the sooner I get to fresh clothes, the less likely I am to puke on anyone else’s shoes. You said Digg and Roy were meeting us halfway?"

She started forward again, and the boys fell into step with her once more. Oliver lifted his arm and pointed to a turn-off on the opposite side of the street just ahead. “There. They should be waiting just a little ways down that road—shit, those sirens really _are_ getting closer.” He looked to Felicity, gaze sharp now and scanning her critically. His eyes fell to her low heels. “Can you run?”

"Faster than a two-dollar hooker, in these babies," she affirmed, nodding. There was a sharp silence, and both men stared at her. Felicity looked from Tommy to Oliver and shrugged. "What? It’s true. And that was a yes, let’s _move_.”

She broke into a rapid jog, not waiting for them any longer. Tommy shook his head and cut his eyes to Oliver. “You ever feel like you’re just constantly trying to catch up to her?”

Oliver, jaw ticking and shoulders a tense line, stared after Felicity and sighed. “Always.”

They got moving again, hurrying their strides to draw even with Felicity as she cut diagonally across the road—and she wasn’t lying about being able to move astonishingly quickly in her heels.

They turned down the side street in a hasty cluster, Oliver scanning the poorly-lit road for the black car Diggle and Roy had ridden in from Starling.

They spotted it under a darkened streetlamp and Felicity let out a weak little squeak of relief, putting on a new burst of speed towards the vehicle. When she was closing in about ten feet away, the rear passenger door pushed open, and Felicity could just make out Roy in the back seat, his red hood up, before he scooted into the dim interior out of the way.

Felicity all but dove into the car, Oliver detouring to the trunk for her bag, Tommy slowing hesitantly as he reached the car.

Inside, Roy nodded awkwardly at Felicity and said, “It’s good to see you back in one piece, Blondie. Wait—is that blood?”

Sighing and cutting his eyes at Oliver as he shut the trunk—and continued to avoid Tommy’s eyes—Tommy slid into the car behind Felicity, glad this was a roomy model, with two cushy bench seats facing each other across a generous amount of leg space. As Tommy scooted in to make room for Oliver and Felicity’s bag, Roy tore his eyes from Felicity’s bloodied dress, the younger man’s brows furrowing thunderously at the unexpected arrival.

"Who the hell are you?" Roy started to move from his seat against the divider to cross the space threateningly, but Felicity said his name sharply and pressed him back with a hand on his shoulder. Roy glanced at Felicity, and then back to Tommy, his hostility slipping into confusion. "Wait, I know you. Don’t I? Didn’t I ask you for a job?"

Tommy stared at Roy, eyeballing him warily as Oliver finally slid into the seat next to him and closed the door. “You did indeed, I even gave it to you. You were a little too busy being kidnapped to show up for work at the time, though.”

Tommy and Felicity both watched the wheels turn in Roy’s head, while Oliver glanced around the interior, assessing the situation. Recognition and disbelief dawned on Roy’s face as behind him, the glass divider between passengers and driver lowered. “Holy shit. You’re Tommy Merlyn. And apparently not dead.”

In the front seat, Diggle turned and propped his elbow along the back of the bench seat. “That is a highly relevant observation, and much as I’d love to take the time to really examine what the fuck our lives have become, we need to get out of here.” His steady brown eyes found Felicity amongst the men and settled on her, running quickly over what he could see of her in the poor dome lighting. “You okay, Felicity?”

She smiled at him shakily. “Nothing a shower and some intense stress eating won’t cure. And lots and lots of questions. But let’s go.”

John nodded, relief visible on his face as he stared at Felicity for a moment longer. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned around and put the car into gear, pulling a U-turn that had the others bracing and finding handholds without seatbelts.

"Seriously, we’re not gonna talk about the dead guy in the car?" Roy asked acerbically, eyes flicking from Oliver to Felicity and skating right over Tommy, who snorted.

"Not right now, Roy," Oliver grumbled, exasperated. He turned uncomfortably against the door, leaving at least three inches between him and Tommy on the crowded seat, and hefted Felicity’s go bag, holding it by the strap across to her. "Here."

"Oh, thank god," Felicity sighed, snatching the duffel and pulling it into her lap. Tugging at the zipper, she quickly surveyed the contents and smiled. "Question and answer time can wait. Right now, things are about to get a little awkward."

Oliver grimaced and Roy raised an eyebrow, but five minutes later, the tinted divider glass was back up and the three men in the back seat were awkwardly kneeling together on the forward-facing bench, themselves facing the rear window of the car. Behind them, Felicity stripped out of her two day old, bloodstained dress and cleaned the smeared and drying mess from her stomach and hands with a package of wet wipes.

As she shuffled into fresh clothing, muttering curses in the confined space, Roy turned his head to eyeball Oliver’s stoic profile, the hood back and his mask removed. “So is this a habit of yours, picking up dead people? Because even for you it’s weird.”

Oliver scowled, but otherwise refused to acknowledge the question.

On Roy’s other side, Tommy uncomfortably cleared his throat and asked, “So obviously I missed some things, but how’d you get roped into this little team? I thought you were just Thea’s boyfriend.”

Roy’s face went cold as he turned his head to look at Tommy. “I’m not. On the team. Or Thea’s boyfriend, for that matter. Not anymore.”

 Suddenly, Tommy grunted, posture dipping as Felicity accidentally caught him in the calf with a sharply-pointed elbow.

"Sorry!" She winced and awkwardly patted Tommy’s calf, then settled herself on the bench seat against the divider. "You guys can turn around now, I’m dressed."

Tommy scrambled to get across the space to settle beside her as the other two shuffled around. Oliver still wouldn’t so much as look at him, and Roy seemed one snide comment away from throwing punches; Felicity just seemed safest.

Roy slouched down across from Felicity, and Oliver remained stiff by the door, his head turned to watch out the window as the dark streets rolled by.

 Tommy glanced over Felicity’s fresh clothes—an oversized MIT tee-shirt and gray sweats, her feet socked and stuff into bright pink running shoes—and smirked. “Cute outfit.”

She rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Roy ended up working with us for a little while after you—after you were gone. He got caught up in the middle of some stuff that was going on, and we couldn’t help him without bringing him on board.” Roy snorted, and Felicity dropped her eyes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “But… things didn’t work out.”

 For a moment, tension filled the car and no one looked at anyone else. Tommy had just opened his mouth to desperately change the subject when Felicity’s head came up, a sudden thought creasing her brow.

"Wait, Roy, what _are_ you doing here? Did you come back to Starling? And what, Oliver just pulled up and offered you a seat on the roadtrip?”

Roy stared at her like she was a peculiar breed of alien. “No.”

Oliver shifted in his seat, turning to glance at Roy, then transferring his gaze to Felicity. “I kept track of him. It seemed smart.” Roy’s eyes dropped to bore a hole through the floor, jaw ticking and shoulders bunched. Oliver sighed and reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “When you went missing, and we realized the League was involved, I called in all the help I thought I could get. Sara’s back at the foundry, running your station.”

 Felicity’s eyebrows rose high. “She came up from Central?” She blinked, then looked at Roy, whose head was still down. She leaned across the space and gently touched his knee to get him to lift his gaze to hers. “You came back to help find me?”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged awkwardly. “It’s you. I happen to know you’d do the same.”

"Still," she smiled. "Thank you."

Behind Tommy and Felicity’s heads, the divider glass rolled down with a quiet _whirr_. Diggle glanced into the backseat in the rearview mirror, coolly assessing the situation as Felicity sat back and half-turned to look at him. “We’re hitting the interstate in a second. From there it’s an hour and a half til we reach Starling. Oliver?” Oliver’s head came up and he raised his eyebrows in answer. “We’re heading to the foundry, I assume? Are we dropping anyone off?”

"No," Oliver sighed. "Let’s head home, Digg."


	4. Everyone Has a price, Child (and What It Cost Him Was His Soul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team--and guests--arrive safely home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a damn age since the last update. I got, er... distracted by other projects. ;) But as you can see, this has been neither abandoned nor forgotten. Don't give up on me yet.

About halfway through the drive back to Starling, Felicity’s adrenaline crashed and the nearly 48 highly stressful hours she’d been awake caught up with her. She nodded off quietly to the noises of the road and the awkward tension among the men, and after a few moments slumped sideways into Tommy’s shoulder.

He looked at her in mild surprise, an odd, tiny smile curling his lips as he wedged his shoulder more behind her to settle her head against his chest and let her rest more comfortably.

He and Felicity had barely known each other—before. But for some reason, she seemed intent on trusting him, and Tommy couldn’t pretend away the squeeze in his chest at the wholly undeserved gift.

She shouldn’t trust him so easily.

But for now, with a car full of her protectors, he let himself hold it and be grateful.

Tommy raised his eyes to see Roy staring out the window, arms tightly folded over his chest and jaw square as a cement block. Sliding his gaze sideways, he met Oliver’s eyes dead-on for probably the first time since the alley. It struck Tommy, how hard his best friend had become to read—and also how easy still, in some ways.

Oliver was wire-taught with tension, the muscle in his jaw twitching spasmodically. There was clear mistrust in the suspicion lighting his eyes—but also desperate hope.

Exhaling in a soft sigh, Tommy tightened his arm around Felicity’s shoulders and wondered at the gulf that separated him and his brother in all but blood, all across the length of a car. It was a canyon filled with their own deaths, and the dangers and secrets accumulated coming out the other side of them.

Tommy cleared his throat. “So, the mask is new.”

Oliver’s eyes flew to him in confusion and surprise, lingering a longing, hopeful beat before skirting away. He reached up and scratched at his temple—very slightly indented by the now-absent mask—and gruffly answered, “A gift. From a friend.”

Tommy tried for a smile; not that Oliver was bothering to see it. “Look at you, making friends. Do I know them?”

Oliver’s lips compressed, and he stared out the window. “No.”

Tommy dragged his lower lip exasperatedly through his teeth, exhaling harshly from his nose. “Oliver, buddy, you’re not helping me out here. Monosyllabic answers do not a conversation make.”

Oliver turned his attention to him at last, to glare at him, hurt and mistrustful. “You wanna have a conversation, _Tommy_?” He hissed. “How the fuck are you here? Where the _fuck_ have you been?” He swallowed hard, eyes burning brighter for anger and fear and a shine of tears. “What’s the _catch_?”

Tommy’s lips thinned, and he sighed, slumping a little in defeat, “I don’t know.”

Beside Oliver, Roy was hunched into himself, silent and staring at the floor like he could pretend he wasn’t in the middle of this, but clearly listening to every word.

"What’s that the answer to?" Oliver ground out, voice low with threat and too much emotion. "All of them?"

Tommy held his gaze, cool sorrow and soft, quiet dread filling his chest. “Just the last one.”

From the front, Diggle interjected, startling Tommy and Oliver. “I got one really important question and it’s the only damn one that needs answering while we’re still in this car.” Tommy craned his head around, trying not to disturb Felicity, and met Digg’s eyes in the rearview. “Are you a danger to her?”

Tommy glanced down at the top of Felicity’s tousled head and opened his mouth, brow furrowing; hesitated.

Diggle scoffed irritably, eyes narrowing. “An _immediate_ danger?”

Tommy slowly, deliberately lifted his gaze to the rearview again, then turned back around to look at both Oliver and Roy, who were leaning forward, tense and dangerous. “No.”

"No offense," Roy spoke up flippantly, "but we’re supposed to just take your word for it?"

"No," Felicity answered, voice hoarse and groggy, tone a little petulant as she sat up, one hand on Tommy’s chest for balance. "You take mine." She blinked, rubbed her eyes, squinted around at the men surrounding her, and frowned. "I trust him."

"Felicity…" Oliver dragged her name out warningly, and she cut him a look sharp enough to slit throats.

“ _Oliver_.” She sighed. “Trust _me_.”

They held each other’s gazes for a long, charged moment that left everyone else exchanging somewhat uncomfortable glances, and then Oliver sighed. “I do trust you.”

Felicity smiled like she’d won something. “Good, then that’s settled.”

Roy sat back into his seat in a slouch and sighed, and Oliver slowly eased back, leathers creaking as he tried to stare a hole through the floor. In the driver’s seat, Diggle muttered something unintelligible and no doubt uncharitable.

Felicity turned her smile on Tommy and patted him with the hand still on his chest before straightening and bringing it to her lap. “Thanks for the nap support. You make a surprisingly good pillow, Merlyn.”

He smiled softly at her and replied dryly, “Anytime, Smoak.”

"Seriously?" Roy snarked. "You’re _flirting_ with her?”

Tommy pinned Roy with a raised eyebrow—beside him, Oliver gave him a dirty look—and Felicity rolled her eyes. Digg remained somewhat judgmentally silent.

"What?" Roy’s shoulders went up around his ears, surly expression making the rounds. "I’ve been sitting here with the view of you two acting cozy for the last hour and I’m not allowed to comment?"

Oliver sighed aggrievedly. “Try keeping your commentary to yourself, Roy.”

Roy shot Oliver a poisonous glare. “Tell me again why I didn’t stick around to be your sidekick?”

"Okay!" Diggle hollered back at them. "Approaching the foundry in ten. Took the long way ‘round to shake any possible pursuit. We’re in the clear."

Oliver nodded sharply, sitting forward again. “Bring us home, Digg.”

—

Felicity preceded the men down the foundry stairs, feeling not unlike a mother duck leading her string of ducklings—a thought that made her suppress a slightly hysterical giggle.

Halfway down, Sara pushed away from the chair in front of Felicity’s computers, staring up at her with a guarded but genuinely relieved smile as she strode across the floor towards them, looking both comfortable and dangerous in her tight dark wash jeans and black Henley.

Felicity reached the bottom and stepped to the side, and into Sara’s waiting, almost crushing embrace. “Don’t scare me like that, Smoak. Do you have any idea the heart attack you almost give a girl when Oliver calls in the middle of the night panicking about you being abducted?”

Felicity wrapped her arms more tightly around Sara’s back and squeezed to give as good as she got, laughing a little when Sara rocked with her from one foot to the other. Tears pricked her eyes helplessly, and she shut them to keep from crying; it was just such a _relief_ to be safe, to be home, to be held by her friend. “Sorry. I’ll try really hard not to do it again.”

Sara released her reluctantly, hands sliding to her shoulders so she could look Felicity solemnly in the face, fingers rising to brush loose blonde strands from her cheek. “You okay, though, honey?” Her question and gaze were loaded, and Felicity swallowed. “Anybody hurt you?”

Felicity put on a brave smile, and thought maybe she might like to talk to Sara about the night’s surreal, awful events—but not right now. “I’m fine. I gave worse than I got, promise.” She darted forward for another quick hug, then stepped back and away from Sara’s hands. “Thank you so much for coming to help find me. It—it means a lot to me.” She reached up to hurriedly wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I interrupted your visit with your mom.”

"Hey," Sara shook her head, canting it to one side to drive her gaze home. "Don’t ever be sorry for needing me. You’re my family, too."

Felicity’s chest seized at the phrase, and she tucked her lips to keep hold of her emotions. Swallowing roughly, she nodded.

The two women broke apart, turning to the room at large. Roy was hovering awkwardly by the bottom of the stairs, still, while Oliver and Diggle had moved further inward to stow their gear and weaponry. Tommy stood adrift in the middle of the room, looking around at all of the changes with an air of curious observance. As Felicity and Sara turned around, he moved his attention to them, meeting Sara’s coolly assessing stare with a small, tight smile of his own.

(It struck Felicity with sudden impact, how different the masks were that this collection of scarred people wore to protect their thoughts and selves and secrets—but each one, Felicity thought, was a visible, stiff mask all the same.)

"Hey, Sara. Long time no see." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved at her casually, eyebrows waggling slightly in humor. "Heard you got the welcome-back-from-the-dead party treatment. A fine tradition started by yours truly, I hope you know."

Sara rocked back with her weight on one leg, hip cocking as she folded her arms loosely beneath her breasts and raised an eyebrow at him. “Heard from your _captors_ at the League?”

Her voice was a little cold, a lot suspicious, and not an ounce apologetic. Felicity winced, pulling her sweatshirt sleeve cuffs down over her hands nervously.

Tommy smirked, eyes moving to the floor as he scuffed at it with a toe. “Something like that.”

"Think it might be a good idea you get a little more specific, Merlyn," Diggle interjected with deceptive calm. He stepped away from the weapons bench, massive arms folding across barrel chest to mirror Sara’s unwelcoming posture.

"You think so?" Tommy returned, a note of acidic challenge in his voice that set Roy’s weight shifting on his feet, eyes narrowing and posture wary.

"Tommy," Oliver spoke like a command, hands on the weapons bench—inches from so many ways to kill someone who was already supposed to be dead—brows a grim line over quietly desperate eyes. "It’s time to answer my questions."

Tommy glanced around at the closing circle of deadly, undeniably hostile vigilantes, and he didn’t like his odds. His shoulders broadened and spine straightened as he met each pair of hard eyes, hands going loose and ready—until he found Felicity’s concerned face, her gaze pleading and open.

Slowly, he let the tension drain out of him like murky water and sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. I’m not—not trying to be evasive. My instincts are just a little—” he smirked, hard and bitter, eyes lowering, “—not what they used to be when you all start ganging up on me.”

"Tommy," Felicity said softly; her voice was a balm on his name, relaxing him even as everyone else wound up tighter than ever as she crossed the floor to stand in front of him, reaching out to rest her fingers on his forearm. "We’re all on the same side. Or—we want to be." She smiled, tight and worried. "Just tell us what we’re getting in to."

He studied her face for a moment, cataloging the soft scrape behind him of a knife leaving the table to no doubt disappear into Oliver’s sleeve. “It’s a long story,” he said quietly. Then, raising his voice and his gaze to each of the members—peripheral, original, and erstwhile—of Team Arrow,  he continued. “You all might want to get comfortable.”

Sara sighed and crossed the room, stopping to tug Felicity’s sleeve. Felicity shook her head at her, and Sara’s expression went pinched, but she nodded, moving past Felicity and Tommy to retake the tech station, leaning forward to settle her elbows on her knees.

Diggle and Oliver stayed where they were, and Roy sat on the bottom step of the stairs.

Taking an odd steadiness from Felicity’s hand still on his arm, Tommy rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as if searching for a safe—or sensible—place to start.

"What do any of you know about the Lazarus Pit?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since this was always intended to be a completely canon-divergent Season 3 AU, Sara lives forever. Look for none of this season's canon garbage here, folks.


End file.
